


chasing cars

by swishandflickwit



Series: The Devil's Lucky Number [22]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Deckerstar - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, deckerstar fanfiction, post-reveal, the return of the bullet necklace fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 14:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: The Morningstar,she had read in her quest to better understand him, in the aftermath.Lightbringer.How God might’ve laughed.IfHe ever bothered to check in, anyways. Then He’d have known how darkness had taken root of His son.And leeched the light from his eyes.In which Chloe returns a gift to where it rightfully belongs.





	chasing cars

**Author's Note:**

> **One** week left. Here we go.

He'd been having trouble sleeping.

_Voices,_ he said. _So many voices._

But even if he hadn’t told her, she would have known. It was in the tremble of his hands whenever he poured himself a drink. It was ubiquitous in the tense set of his shoulders and the deep lines on his face, when he turned to her with a smile that no longer touched his gaze.

( _Could you hear mine?_ she wondered. _Can you hear how sorry I am?_ )

_The Morningstar,_ she had read in her quest to better understand him, in the aftermath. _Lightbringer_. How God might’ve laughed. _If_ He ever bothered to check in, anyways. Then He’d have known how darkness had taken root of His son.

And leeched the light from his eyes.

_I’m sorry,_ she had told him so many times— _kept_ telling him, really. And every damn time he’d give her that hollowed look and that blank smile, tell her in overly-saccharine but ultimately _empty_ pronouncements, _Whatever for?—_ accompanied by a flippant wave— _No need for that._

Spoken like an irrevocable truth. Like he had always expected it. Like she had a _right_ to be repulsed by _him._

Like he _deserved_ it.

And in the wake of that, he was just… _dimmed._ So gaunt with the void of effulgence yet burdened with the unrest his demons toiled upon his mind.

Demons _she_ had unbridled with her careless rejection.

And no number of apologies would make that right. No _words,_ in any language—and he knew them all—would make this right.

So she thought about what she could _do,_ instead.

“Lucifer?” she called from his bedroom. They had been steadily thrumming to a nascent rhythm. One redolent of the scales of their earlier partnership but interspersed—given her recently-appointed maestro status on her knowledge of him—with new beats, such as retiring to his penthouse for a drink or two before he took her home.

But Chloe was ready to weave a fresh, if familiar, harmony now.

Her back was to the entrance, so all she had to go on to indicate his arrival was the sharp click of Louboutins against Italian marble and his confused, “Detective?”

After all, it wasn’t every day she was stood at the foot of his bedstead, drowning in one of his ridiculously expensive, black robes.

“What… what’s going on?”

With quivering fingers, she untied the knot at her hip, and slipped first one sleeve of a shoulder—

“Detective,” he said through strained, yet warbled, articulations.

—then the other.

_“Chloe,”_ he warned.

Silk pooled at her feet, and then there was no hiding.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she parroted. “You showed me all of you.”

She turned to him wearing nothing but a small smile.

And a beloved chain clasped around her neck.

“Now it’s my turn.”

His breath truncated when he inhaled the sight.

“You—”

“Are sharing with you who I am. Who I _want_ to be,” she averred. “And that’s _with_ you, as _you_ are. Wings—Devil face—and all,” she chuckled, even as droplets stained her lashes. “If you’ll still have me?”

For a while, she could hear nothing but her wild heartbeat. He moved to stand before her, giving her body a cursory glance before _staring,_ just staring.

At the bullet nestled comfortably between her collarbones.

Then he was pressing his forehead to hers, till her cheeks were wet with tears she could no longer separate between his and her own.

But he was warm, _so_ warm, a gleam in his eyes when he grasped her biceps and asked her, oh so timid but tender… _innocent._

“Will you lie down with me? Just… just lie down.”

_Hold me,_ she heard his plea.

So she did, the reassuring weight of him in her arms feeling faintly of forgiveness... the sensation of his skin flushed against hers resonant with the soft glow of love.

Light flared behind her closed eyelids.

And they were both lost to the quiet oblivion of a peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I promised lighter, fluffier things but _ugh,_ I watched Endgame this morning and have just been crying on and off all. freaking. day. I fell asleep around 4pm then woke up at 7 to write this for about two hours. Sorry if it's sucky :\ Ildy _did_ mention we would get a bullet necklace scene and I've ~~high~~ lowkey been wondering where it's gone to because I know how much it meant to Lucifer, to _both_ of them, to have Chloe wear it. In the aftermath of Endgame, I needed a bit of healing and reconciliation myself. Thus, _this_ was born.
> 
> Story also inspired by the song [Chasing Cars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GemKqzILV4w) by Snow Patrol.


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